Divine Salvation
by xXm00tp01ntXx
Summary: SangoxMiroku In 24 fateful hours, their fates were clearly apparent. This dark, twisted version of Rumiko Takahashi's well-known series, Inuyasha, just may change your mind about her characters and the bonds that hold them together. Rated for violence.


Hey, everybody! This is Jezzi, speaking from her very first fanfiction! I hope you enjoy it; I'm planning to extend it so that there are many adventures for our two main protagonists, Miroku and Sango!

Miroku: "Oh, boy."

Sango: "_Joy_."

Me: "What, you two don't like fanfictions about yourselves?"

Both: "No, we just don't like _dying_."

Me: "Oh, then rest assured, you will _not_ die in this fanfic… Yet… I have other plans…"

Both: *Gulp* "Wait, are you planning on putting lemons in this?"

Me: "Oh, no! No, no, no! It's not like I despise lemons, it's just that I can't write them. Literally, I can't write them. My friends would also gang up on me, drive me into a corner, and murder me! I'd get pwn'd! This is rated for violence, something I _can _write, in both definitions I mentioned. So, I hope you enjoy, sorry for randomness, but I'm on a sugar-high, we now got candy! Oh, and flames will be fed to the trolls, then the trolls will be fed to Kirara to help with the digestion of the monstrous words you may conjure. Sticks an' stones! Anyway, to the fanfiction, and away! (Did I **really** just say that?)"

(Oh, yea, I almost forgot to put translations. Shakujou=Miroku's staff. Taiji-ya=Sango's profession, demon slaying. Air rip= Miroku's wind tunnel. I believe it's called this in the manga version. Btw, dancing Kirby is used to separate what happens to the characters. If you have suggestions or questions, please put them in reviews. That's what their main use is!)

Miroku blinked as he walked into the darkness of the shrine. He'd expected a low-class interior, as were all of the others he'd been in, but _this_ was surprising. The walls were ornate with swirls embedded in the design of the wood, and the furniture matched, if not outclassed, this display. On the farthest wall was a shakujou, lying on its side next to his father's portrait. A dozen red roses and an average sized box were left as a memento of his deceased mother. He'd always wanted to dissipate the mysteries that lay within this particularly interesting box, but Mushin, his caretaker, always told him otherwise. Apparently, his mother told the monk it was a reserved gift for his sixteenth birthday. And so, here he was, retrieving it, as it was his sixteenth birthday today. Ashden, his elder brother, had come with him, being the ever-worrying sibling he changed into since their parents' death.

Deciding he could wait no longer, Miroku peered inside the box. Inside the dusty container lie a pile of folded monk robes. The inner robe was a pitch black, while the outer fabric was a deep purple. He hoisted the gift into his lap to examine it closer when a small note fell from between the folds of the cloth. He read it, and realized it was a letter from his mother to him. He showed it to Ashden, who accepted the slip of paper and read it aloud:

_To my dear son,_

_I hope you have been living well, Miroku. Inside this box should be a set of monk robes. I trust they will suit you well on your journeys. Your father fit them very well. I only wish I could be there to see you become a proper monk, for if you are reading this then both your father and I have passed. If only he hadn't been cursed, then maybe you and your brother could have grown together in a complete family. Though, I suppose we __were__ lucky, for it was that same curse that drew me toward your father. I will have to tell you that story sometime in the afterlife, hopefully our meeting will be quite a while away._

_Well, I suppose my off-topic drabbling has bored you long enough. I should let you go to try your new robes on and see for yourself just how comfortable they are. As I remember, your father wanted you to inherit his shakujou as well, as an apology for passing on his air rip. Live long and prosper, my son. You have a long journey ahead of you, much longer than you may expect._

_ With bountiful love,_

_ Mom_

Ashden could feel tears welling up in his eyes post-reading; he had known and adored their kind mother as long as he could remember. Miroku looked up at his brother, feeling tears threaten to fall from his eyes as well. Oh, how he longed to see his real mother; the women his father had brought home from his 'journeys' were never _truly_ part of the family.

(o.O) (^-^) (O.o) (^-^) (o.O) (^-^) (O.o) (^-^) (o.O) (^-^) (O.o)

As she walked around the thick cloud of mist, Sango vaguely wondered at how a demon, even if it was specialized in this kind of _amusement_, could cause such a problem. She was, in fact, a demon exterminator and, therefore, trained in the art of combat. On top of that, she was experienced in this particular _type_ of battle, as she often used smoke pallets to level a disproportional playing field. So, as to why this _specific_ demon was such a problem, she was stumped.

The demon took this pause in her focus as a chance to finish her off. As it neared her, it realized a split-second too late that her lack of attention was a setup, a trap. As a result, it was split in half and the victor of this round was the taiji-ya. Sub sequencing that, the young demon slayer was rewarded a night's stay at a fine inn in the near town that had hired her.

Exhaustion overcame her sore muscles as she cautiously slid herself into the heated tub. She had needed a bath for a while; her duties had kept her from taking one. She sighed as relaxation followed the pain of settling down from her demanding tasks. Thoughts of the previous weeks filled her mind as her ministrations for the villagers came to an end. In one day, just 24 fateful hours, her brother had been converted into a ruthless murderer, killing her, or rather, _their _father and fellow demon exterminators. He had attempted to kill her, the closest thing he had to a mother. In his last moments of life, she witnessed him weep, letting her know of his regret. She had heard him call her name, letting her know of his conscience. She had been nearly killed by the same men that had ended his life, letting her know it wasn't just a twisted, demented dream that her mind occasionally touched, causing her whimpers in the night and the worry of the villagers.

Yes, this was the very reason for her mindless acceptance of death. This was the reason she accepted so many missions without much payment, and even became famous for her deals. She wanted to see, to feel her brother in her arms once more, and to let him know that everything would be alright, even if she didn't accept the deceit herself. She wanted to steal his pain away, to make everything the way it was before. _Just wait, Kohaku_, she prayed to herself, _I'll be there to protect you from everything that could hurt you. Please wait a little longer. I'll save you…_

(o.O) (^-^) (O.o) (o.O) (^-^) (O.o) (o.O) (^-^) (O.o)

Just as his mother had said, the robes fit him perfectly. Miroku stretched, testing the extent of the cloth's comfort. It was surprisingly stretchable, considering it fit so firmly on him. He picked up the shakujou and spun it a couple of times above his head. It was well balanced, ready and fit for battle. Its rings jingled as he walked over to his brother and asked if he was ready to leave. He nodded, and they started toward the door.

A loud explosion went off in the distance and shook the foundation of the shrine, thus knocking Miroku and Ashden down to the ground. A loud, drawn out roar followed up the explosion and warned the brothers of a large demonic presence. Miroku stumbled to his feet and looked out the door, only to see a large pillar of smoke billowing from where his village stood. Panic struck as realization of what exactly happened smacked him across the face. His brother had also scrambled to his feet by then, his expression quickly distorting to horror as he too realized what had happened.

After a few seconds of gaping and crying out curses to no one in particular, a tree came loose of its roots and was sent flying towards the terrified brothers. The figure that sent it, a lizard demon, soon followed up in the attack and made a quick attempt to decapitate Ashden. Unfortunately for the demon, the monk regained control over his emotions long before the stranger had a chance to best him. Ashden rapidly counterattacked his charge, throwing the demon off guard. He took this opening to strike him in the stomach, opening a large gash and allowing crimson liquid to freely flow out of the demon and onto the ground. The demon quickly covered the wound, applying pressure in a feeble attempt to seal his stomach back together.

Meanwhile, Miroku was fending for his own life. With his newly acquired weapon, he blocked the majority of the attacks sent by the hideous toad demon before him. The rest was, unfortunately, absorbed by his body. He was running out of energy at this point; quite the contrary to the foe in front of him. Unlike his older brother, Miroku wasn't very well trained in the art of battle, which is precisely why his brother _was _educated. As the toad lunged at him, he countered his attack and made a similar wound to his brothers' rival, but on its left shoulder instead of its stomach. He then used this distraction to create another wound on its forearm and attempted to finish the battle by beheading it, but only succeeded in creating a cut on its cheek. The demon countered with a similar cut on Miroku's right arm.

Their bodies moving in sync, Miroku and the amphibious demon fought with all of their might, each trying to best the other with quick counterattacks and faux assaults. For every hit Miroku made, the toad would return with equal attack. Every false attack one would throw, the other would counter with the same. Ashden noticed this during his battle, and admired his brother for his ability to mimic his foe's abilities and use their own moves against them. Truthfully, this ability reminded him of the famous demon slayers that he'd heard about as a boy.

(';..;') (O.O) (';..;') (O.O) (';..;') (O.O) (';..;') (O.O)

Sango polished her boomerang for the umpteenth time that morning. Not that it needed to be polished; quite the contrary. It only _needed_ to be polished once a day. So, what caused her to perform such a mind-numbing task? A nightmare woke her up in the middle of the night and caused her to rely on such ministrations. More specifically, a dream about the day her village was murdered caused her to wake up with tears cascading down her cheeks in a very embarrassing manner. If she had been travelling with anybody at the moment, she surely would have trouble explaining what had happened.

At that moment, a maid entered the room and bowed respectfully. "What is it?" Sango inquired. "Breakfast is ready, milady," the maid responded. "I'll be ready in a few minutes," Sango reassured."Yes ma'am," the maid bowed again and exited the room. _Why was I __informed__ of breakfast?_ Sango questioned. And with one final polish, she departed for breakfast. After all, she _was_ hungry.

(o_o^) (o_-) (^o_o) (-_o) (o_o^) (o_-) (^o_o) (-_o) (o_o^) (o_-) (^o_o) (-_o)

Miroku and his brother finally finished off their foes (Miroku with a blind-sided swipe off his foe's feet and a jab through the heart; Ashden with a distracting cut on the demon's forearm and a quick decapitation) and hurriedly took off in the general direction of the village.


End file.
